durango

By Gabrielle Palmer

above my head there is a locker advertising glow-in-the-dark cock rings.
i make eye contact with this advertisement in the mirror and piss
four hours of road trip soda into a stained and feculent gas station toilet.

in case you need one, if you were planning on bending someone
over behind the gritty old pumps outside, they're a dollar. the
cowboys are desperate if you’re so inclined; they rule the wasteland,
so put your back into it. the knights templar rebranded to the knights
sinclair. when the masses lose electricity, the skies darken, and the
overhead light in my car has burnt out, i will find my way back to
durango

to read luxemburg by the harsh glow of a clanging refinery.

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Gabrielle Palmer (she/her) is a bartender, advocate, and writer on the Oregon coast. You’ve probably told her your life story. Upcoming work can be found in Red Noise Collective, NiftyLit, and on socials @gabpalmerwrites.